


Well Kept

by Gourmet



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Gags, Human Furniture, M/M, Spark Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2347418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gourmet/pseuds/Gourmet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Optimus had been making an effort not to bring his work home. His position was an important one, overseeing the civilian affairs of Cybertron, but that was no excuse for consistently ignoring his conjunx endura in favor of data pads and after-hour conferences."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Kept

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InuShiek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InuShiek/gifts).



> so after reading so many of her awesome fics and seeing she had a birthday coming up, I asked [inushiek](http://inushiek.tumblr.com/) about a kink she wanted to see more of in fanfic and human!furniture it was! i have no idea if i did this right, so. enjoy??

Optimus had been making an effort not to bring his work home. His position was an important one, overseeing the civilian affairs of Cybertron, but that was no excuse for consistently ignoring his _conjunx endura_ in favor of data pads and after-hour conferences. And he certainly hadn't been the only perpetrator between them, but he had been the one to put a stop to it. Theirs was too important a household to pretend work wouldn't ever be brought home, but it certainly didn't need to happen as often as it had been. So it had been agreed upon that nothing without a pressing need to be finished after hours would be brought home.  
  
But even with the new budget proposal being one of those pressing needs, Optimus did feel a touch guilty for letting his work spill over. Venting out a sigh, he made a few marks on his data pad before reaching forward and picking his half-forgotten cube of high grade off the table. This wasn't the last iteration of the proposal he'd see, but if they planned on getting anything approved within the orn, he was going to need to get it back to Prowl. He used his thumb to scroll a little further through the proposal, humming quietly over his cube. There were a few notations on the requests for military spending that he wasn't sure he agreed with. Not with the Galactic Counsel breathing down their backstruts.  
  
Optimus considered his options for a moment before leaning over to set his cube back on the table, accessing his calendar to schedule time for that discussion. While he certainly had easy enough access to the Lord High Protector's audial receptor, he found it was easier to carve out formal appointment times when he could. It ensured they would actually have more than a few fleeting kliks to discuss an issue without one demand or another forcing them to call their talks short. And Primus forbid things go the way they had during the last vorn's budget discussions.  
  
He tapped his fingers lightly against the edge of the data pad as he moved on, shifting into a more comfortable position before lifting one leg and balancing the heel of his pede against the table. He hummed quietly, pleased, and continued down through the rest of the proposal, marking a few sections here and there and adding his notes in for Prowl's review. At one point he brought his other leg up, crossing it over the other at the ankle. There was a brief tremor from under the heel of his pedes, but it didn't last or disrupt his high grade, so he didn't pay it any mind.  
  
Even in the more relaxed pose, however, he felt stiff by the time he finally finished going through everything. Venting out a sigh, he tossed the data pad lightly aside on the couch before lacing his fingers and lifting his arms up above his helm, stretching out his backstruts until a few cables whined. He felt a little looser when he lowered his arms again, and he finally lifted his pedes, setting them back on the floor and climbing off the couch. Optimus grabbed his cube of high grade on his way around the table and finished it off during his leisurely walk to refill it.  
  
He took his time refilling the cube and hummed quietly again when he turned back around to consider the room. He did feel guilty for bringing his work home, but there were occasions where it was necessary. And for those occasions, he had found a good middle ground for them to ensure his mate wasn't overlooked.  
  
"Mm, when was the last time we cleaned this place?" he murmured, mostly to himself, and he walked over to set his new cube of high grade back on the table before stepping out of the room. A few kliks later he returned with a bottle of cleaning solvent and a soft polishing cloth.  
  
He smiled lightly and moved to kneel down next to the table, setting his cleaning supplies on the floor next to him. "I haven't been taking very good care of my things, have I?" he tsked, picking the cube up to take a long sip before setting it aside as well. With light digits, he traced a few glyphs against the surface of the tabletop before flattening his servo out, stroking lightly down the length of it. At the edge, he curled his servo and dug his fingertips into a seam, smile widening a touch when another shiver ran out over the metal under his palm.  
  
“Looking a bit dull here,” he hummed, sliding his fingers away to could pick up the cloth and solvent. He shifted slightly, raising a little further up on his knees as he turned the bottle over so he could draw out random patterns across the tabletop, letting a little extra dribble over the back end. And he didn’t miss the way fingers dug harder against the floor at the opposite end. The streaks of solvent shone in translucent threads against the scratched metal surface, and Optimus made a mental note to buy a new buffer for the house. But a polish would do just as well for now. A pretty gleam would leave anyone hard pressed to notice a few scratches.  
  
He set to work at a leisurely pace, sipping high grade and buffing the tabletop into a pretty shine. By the time he’d finished, there was a turbine purring softly under the stroke of his cloth. Optimus made a pleased sound of his own and set his half-empty cube back on the table. “There, much better. Now let’s see about the rest of this,” he murmured, pouring solvent onto the cloth in his servo before shifting closer to the table. He reaching over the top, mindful of his cube, and started buffing the cloth up the side, dipping into crevices as he came across them.  
  
“That’s it,” he rumbled in quiet approval when vents shuttered open and a cooling fan kicked on. He took his time working solvent over the sides and down the legs of the table, even buffing the cloth unhurriedly over the underside, and while a shudder or two rattled his cube, it remained perched safely until he lifted it for another drink. When he emptied the cube, Optimus set it back in its place before rearranging himself at the front end of the table.  
  
He tsked softly, setting his fingertips under his table’s chin and tipping up. Dim red optics settled on him, not entirely focused, and oral fluid leaked slowly from the corners of his mouth, where his lip components where held apart by the set of a rubber gag. “Look at this mess,” he murmured, bringing up a corner of the cloth to wipe his jaw dry. When he took his servos away, his table’s helm stayed where it had been tilted, and Optimus smiled when he turned back to begin rubbing down his helm.  
  
Large fingers teased over audial receptors and brushed against the latches on the helm without releasing them. And when the armor there shone as bright as the rest, he crooned softly and leaned forward, brushing his lip plates against the gag.  
  
“You’re being so good,” he murmured, stroking a servo down the back of his table’s neck cables, hooking into the collar around them to tug lightly. But his table was sturdy and his cube didn’t so much as shift on it. He slid his finger around the collar and shifted closer, tugging again until the helm lowered against his chest plates. He revved his engine, letting the vibrations rumble through his plating, petting his servos over the sleek silver metal beneath them.  
  
Theirs was an important household. And sometimes work was brought home whether they wanted it to be or not. But where Optimus brought home budget proposals and meeting minutes, their Warlord brought home strategies and threats and a looming, overwhelming responsibility to keep them all _safe._ And that wasn’t to say that Optimus didn’t carry that same responsibility, but he spent his days now drowning in finances and legalities, not the looming threat of attacks or tightening their military forces.  
  
So when Optimus had to be tied up with data pads and calls after hours, he did so only after stripping Megatron of his responsibilities. And despite how he always growled and argued through the first few breems, there inevitably came a point where he settled, relaxing into the knowledge that nothing at all was expected of him for a while. He never relinquished his titles and duties without a fight, but Optimus had a patient servo and knew how to draw those things away until he was left with nothing but himself under the Prime’s watchful optics.  
  
Optimus’s spark beat strong and steady behind the seam of his chest plates, lulling Megatron’s into the same warm rhythm. And when lipplates touched the top of his helm, he shuttered his optics, making a quiet sound behind the gag scrambling his vocalizer. When his helm was lowered by large, gentle servos, he dropped it and vented with a shudder.  
  
“Mm, I think I need another drink,” Optimus murmured, pushing up onto his pedes and stretching out again, picking the cube up. He was, however, still mindful of his position tonight, and he only filled the cube halfway, sipping lightly when he turned back to consider the table. When he walked back over, he circled slowly, coming to a stop at the back end. “Hmm. It looks like I missed a spot.”  
  
He took another sip before setting his cube back down on the curve of its aft. He shifted, venting warmly, almost huffing, over the uncovered interface equipment before him before leaning around to pick the cloth back up from the floor. “Even more of a mess back here,” he tsked, swiping his thumb through the viscous sheen of lubricant beading between the valve folds. Humming quietly, he lifted his thumb and sucked it clean, loud enough to ensure it was heard, and the table rattled, his cube tinkling softly before settling again.  
  
Optimus didn’t bother to hide a chuckle, grabbing the solvent as well and turning his attention to buffing out the table legs into a proper, sleek shine. “That’s better,” he crooned, sitting back on his heels. Absolutely lovely. A piece he certainly wouldn’t mind keeping on display like this more often. But Megatron _had_ been good, and he enjoyed seeing him this way - calm for once, relaxed even. It was good for him to get out of his own processor once in a while.  
  
So Optimus set the cloth aside and shifted closer, rubbing a servo warmly against his side before curling his fingers in, sneaking between the relaxed seams of his plating to stroke and tweak at the cables underneath. It earned a surprised twitch before the silver frame settled again under the precariously balanced cube of high grade. But that didn’t keep Optimus from reaching his other servo around to stroke down between the folds of his valve again, tracing the rim and circling around the exterior node until lubricant was trickling steadily over his fingers and the churning of Megatron’s fans was strong enough to keep a constant vibration thrumming under his plating.  
  
“That’s it,” he purred, slipping his fingers out from his plating to reach under his chassis, pressing warmly against his side. A noise that came out only as twisted static sounded near the other end when Optimus drew his fingertips down the center seam of his chest plates. And when Megatron shivered and hesitated, Optimus turned his helm and mouthed tender kisses against his hip, murmuring quietly to him, “It’s all right. Let me in. Let me take care of you.”  
  
Megatron pressed his fingers against the floor again, stabilizing himself, but his vents hitched when Optimus pushed two steady digits forward, sinking into his valve to give his eager calipers something to grasp at. It was with another hard shudder that his chest plates hissed apart, spilling thrumming, swirling light onto the floor beneath him. Optimus kissed his hip again and twisted the fingers inside of him just so, and he barely managed not to buck back onto them. All he had to do was stay still. A table wouldn’t upset a mech’s cube of its own accord.  
  
And then Optimus’s servo lifted and his fingers toyed with the curling tendrils of energy reaching out from his spark and a high whine tried to work around the scrambler on his vocalizer. “Shh, shh, shh,” Optimus whispered, voice soothing in a way the quickening thrusts of his fingers were not.  
  
But even with the faster pace of digits in and out of the other mech’s valve, his touch was gentle, almost excruciatingly so, and Megatron fisted his fingers when Optimus reached into his spark chamber and dragged a digit slowly along the crystalline casing. It rarely took long like this, when Megatron was already so lax, so receptive, and Optimus smiled against his hip when a few gentle strokes against that hot, fluttering beat of his spark was all it took to seize the larger frame. A garbled noise gasped out around the gag and his valve clenched down hard around his fingers, lubricant seeping down Optimus’s servo and wrist.  
  
And when Megatron groaned and stirred out of the post-overload haze a few kliks later, Optimus pulled away and stood, letting him close his chest plates and have a moment to recollect himself. He returned shortly after with another, clean cloth, wiping his own servo down and then the sticky expanse of Megatron’s interface array and thighs.  
  
“Very good, Megatron,” he praised, patting his aft lightly before picking up the cube that, while teetering had not been overturned. He smiled at the pleased rumble of Megatron’s turbines and walked around to stroke his helm for a few moments while he checked his chronometer. “Mmm, the news is starting. I think I’ll turn in after that,” he decided.  
  
He stood there for a moment, listening, but aside from the steady hum of overheated systems working to cool back down, there was no noise from his table. Optimus hummed softly and smoothed his servo over the tabletop once more before settling back onto the couch after finding the remote to turn the vidscreen on.  
  
In a joor, when the broadcast ended, he would unfasten Megatron’s collar and remove the gag and pull him into the berthroom to be held and fussed over.  
  
But for now, Optimus leaned back and stretched out, crossing one heel over the other on the tabletop, and the quiet purr under-pede matched pleased rev of his own engine.  
  



End file.
